The Cat That Owned Ziva
by Channel D
Summary: On a cold night, in a time of stress, a small cat comes into Ziva's life. Drama. One-shot.


**The Cat That Owned Ziva**

**by channelD**

_written for_: the NFA Weekly Writing Challenge #18: **Pets**

_rating_: K plus

_genre_: drama

_- - - - -_

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS

- - - - -

On a quiet night in December, Ziva came home late from work. She was tired; the team had worked late all week. The extra hours were getting on her nerves, as were her teammates. Tony was more teasing and irritating than usual lately. Tim was sweet as always, but his techno-babble, seemingly spouted at any available minute, had worn her down. She was tired of being with them and their petty concerns so much. _Why can we not just work together, and not get in each other's hair?_

It was nearly 10 o'clock, and bitterly cold. No clouds held in the meager heat from the earth, instead seemingly bringing the universe's frigidity down upon the planet. Ziva pulled her coat tightly about her as she got out of her car. _Not the entire planet,_ she thought. _In places like Australia it is warm now; even hot._ _But_ _that is not the case here._

Her thoughts only on getting inside and turning up her thermostat just a bit, Ziva sprinted for her apartment building's doorway…only to stop when she heard a strange sound, a cry, in the bushes by the wall.

Curious, she parted the dense bushes, and out came a thin grey cat; really a half-grown kitten. It looked upon her with begging, desperate eyes, and it mewed while it did so. That was the sound she had heard.

"Goodness!" she said to it. "What are you doing out here on such a cold night? And you look like you have not eaten in a week!"

Again the cat mewed, and nuzzled her legs. _Help me, human,_ it seemed to say.

"I…I cannot take you inside, cat. My landlord…there are rules against having pets…" At least, she _thought_ there were. She couldn't remember for sure. At one apartment she had lived in at another address there had indeed been rules, and a family was kicked out because they would not give up the stray dog they'd taken in.

The cat bent its head.

"Do not make me put words in your mouth, cat," Ziva murmured. "I am not a pets person. But if you could talk, you would probably tell me that you cannot last the night out here in your condition."

Overnight, the temperature was expected to drop to -20C/-4F. That might be fatal.

Looking to make sure that no one saw her, and then muttering a prayer in Hebrew, Ziva picked up the little cat and tucked it inside her coat. "Ground rule, or Rule #1," Ziva whispered to it. "You must be very, very quiet. As quiet as can be."

The cat snuggled in and didn't make a sound.

"All right, then," said Ziva. "As long as we are in agreement on that."

- - - - -

She took it into her apartment, and set it down gently. It was a boy cat, she saw now. Not a graceful lady cat, as she would have liked. But that was okay. Rescuing the cat was a _mitzvah, _a good deed, she was sure. It was late now and she had no way of transporting a cat to an animal shelter that might not involve a cat freaking out inside a car. _Perhaps I could borrow a dog carrier from Ducky. He must have one or more…though a dog scent might frighten a cat. And the cat scent upset the dogs, when I return it._

These were problems that could wait for morning. More importantly, the cat needed feeding. She could see his ribs as he walked. He wore no collar, so he must be a stray. _He may have even been born in the wild. Maybe he has never been in a house or apartment._

Indeed, the cat seemed a little curious about his surroundings, but his eyes were on Ziva.

Ziva rummaged for food that he might accept. A saucer of milk was easy; and the cat eagerly lapped it down, and then a refill, too. Ziva defrosted a piece of fish and set it out for the cat. The cat sniffed at it and then licked it before biting into it. Once done, the cat wrapped himself around Ziva's ankles, purring.

She had made a friend.

- - - - -

When it was time to go to bed, she didn't know what to do with the cat. He had spent the last two hours sitting on her lap while she read a book. He solved the question by following her into the bedroom and springing onto the bed, settling down far enough away that she was not likely to roll over onto him.

"Good night," she said to him, smiling, and turned out the light.

A few minutes later she turned the light back on (earning her a mild look of disapproval from the cat), and got out of bed. She searched in her small case of important papers until she found a copy of her lease. _I have to know…_

And she found the answer on page 2. It was not what she had expected. She read the words aloud.

"_Section 8B. Pets: Small pets are permitted, provided they are quiet and do not cause damage to the apartment. Our building has thick walls, but if a neighbor complains about noise produced by your pet, you may be asked to remove it."_

Well.

"I guess you do not need to pack your bags right away, cat," she said to him.

But he was already back to sleep, as if confident of the outcome.

- - - - -

She woke up at the alarm's peal, and so did the cat. He flicked his tail, signaling his dislike for the noise, or else the awakening. Ziva looked at him, her lips quirking a smile. "If you are going to remain here with me, you must get a name," she said to him. And then her mind went to the day ahead, as she knew it would. "Arrgh. I wonder what Tony and McGee will do to drive me crazy today? If I acted on my impulse, one of them would be a dead man." She frowned, but thinking again of the cat, she suddenly smiled. " 'Dead Man.' That shall be your name," she said to it. "Not 'dead cat'. 'Dead Man.' You are strong enough to bear that, I think. And it will be a small stress reliever for me."

Dead Man, the cat, blinked at her, but didn't appear troubled.

"I'm glad you agree." She picked up the cat for a quick cuddle…it was an affectionate cat, for being a stray…before getting dressed, setting out water and a little food for it, and then heading to work.

- - - - -

"What are you smiling about, Zee-vah?" Tony asked the next day at work.

"I have acquired a cat," she said proudly.

"A…_achoo!"_ Tim sneezed.

"Now that's the power of suggestion at work, McAllergic," Tony grinned.

"My allergies aren't in my head, Tony," said Tim, sneezing again, and reaching for his handkerchief. "I'm—" He glanced at Ziva's coat, looked more closely, then quickly stepped back. "There are cat hairs on your coat! Silver cat hairs!"

Tony looked, too, as Ziva did likewise. "Huh. They could be Gibbs' hair," Tony said.

"I do not like whatever you are implying, Tony," Ziva said, darkly.

"Why not?" he grinned. "Isn't Gibbs your type?"

He winced at the headslap that came from behind. "Knock it off, DiNozzo," growled Gibbs. "All of you: your reports should have been on my desk _yesterday at noon_ like I told you! I don't see any reports! Get busy, _NOW!"_

They all hustled for their desks. Ziva wished she had her little gray stress-reliever with her now.

- - - - -

Ziva was able to talk Gibbs, even in his sour mood, to letting her leave early that day. On the way home she stopped at a pet supplies store and came out with a few armloads of things for Dead Man: a sleeping cushion (should he decide to forsake her bed). A litter box and its related stuff. Food. Toys. A red collar. She got a recommendation from the store owner for a veterinarian, and was able to make an appointment for a check-up for Saturday.

Dead Man appeared glad to see her when she got home. She'd heard of cats who pouted when their owners went away. This was not one of them.

After they'd both had dinner, Ziva brought out the cat toys and they played together for about an hour until Dead Man had had enough. He whacked her hand lightly with a paw, as if to say _stop it, _and trundled off to the bedroom for a nap.

She was far from ready for bed, but not disappointed. The weight of the work day had fallen off her in the play time. Ziva surfed her favorite web sites, took a bubble bath, and then went to bed early.

- - - - -

Dr. Mullins, the vet, treated Dead Man like a prince, and the cat showed no fear of the vet's office. The doctor estimated Dead Man's age to be about five months. The cat was in reasonably good health, the doctor said, and made an appointment to have him neutered in a few weeks' time.

"You are a good cat," Ziva whispered to Dead Man as she carried him out. "Very healthy considering your time living outside. I am glad to have you in my life now."

- - - - -

It amazed her how conditions at work seemed to change quickly. Tim's geek speak surfaced less often, and when it did, it was actually useful. She could even follow it part of the time. Tony became easier to deal with: less confrontational and less teasing. Gibbs, for his part, seemed less overbearing and even seemed aloof, provided his people got their work done. Life hummed on, and it was good.

- - - - -

Abby came over sometimes to play with the cat. Dead Man was just as responsive to her as he was to Ziva. Tim's visits were never long, due to his allergies, and Ziva regretted that greatly. One night she had prepared dinner for the team, and shut Dead Man up in the bedroom, but Tim still fell ill early on and had to leave before the first course. Although she knew she shouldn't blame Tim for something he couldn't help, it still began a cooling between them.

Tony and Gibbs weren't cat people, and Dead Man must have sensed this. When they came over, he would trot into the bedroom and stay there until they had gone. Nor did he care for the scent of dog that Ducky must carry, but he didn't run away from the kind man, preferring only to stay on the other side of the room, watching him. Jimmy, for some reason, Dead Man adored. The cat would not leave him alone on the rare occasions when Jimmy visited. Ziva wondered if Jimmy himself didn't have a cat hidden away somewhere.

- - - - -

Winter rolled on, and lingered. But then suddenly it was spring. Grass became green again; early flowers poked out of the cold ground, the sun rose higher, birds returned, trees sprouted leaves, cherry blossoms were everywhere.

Ziva and Dead Man started taking daily walks; he on a leash. The cat didn't appear to _like_ the leash, but he didn't fight it, either. Ziva grew more and more content, and her time after work and on weekends with her pet was something she cherished.

Then one day a memo came out at work. The DoD was studying the calming effect of animals on recovering wounded servicemen and women; would owners of mild-mannered pets please bring them to NCIS on an upcoming July day for harmless testing?

Ziva was simultaneously protective of Dead Man and eager to show off his pleasant personality. She noticed that Tim was signing up his dog, and that was another reason why she wanted to bring her cat. Her cat could run rings around that dog, she was sure.

In the time between her first dinner party (after Dead Man had moved in) and now, she'd had a couple of others. Tim had declined the first two and then she stopped inviting him, substituting Jimmy in his place. It changed the dynamics of the dinners a bit. They were enjoyable, still, and people seemed to have a good time…but they were a little different than they had been before Dead Man came into her life.

It carried over to work. Tim had always been at least on the fringe of any conversation that Ziva and Tony had; now he tuned them out completely, working hard at his desk. He got his job done, and was still dependable in the field, but socially, he was withdrawn.

_That is his choice,_ Ziva figured.

- - - - -

The day of the pet-testing came. It was a hot day; a temperature extreme like the day back in December when Ziva had found Dead Man. She felt a little sorry for him, all wrapped in fur as he was, but his hair was short and he didn't seem to be too troubled. That was just how he was: mild about everything.

Twenty-three NCISers brought pets, and they all stood, pet and owner, under a tent erected in the Navy Yard parking lot. Nineteen of the animals were dogs, three were cats, and one was a parrot. Ziva was directed to the side with the cats, which were being kept separate from the dogs and the parrot. Dead Man blinked at the other cats; a plump black cat and a calico. They blinked back at him. Even Director Vance brought his dog; a frisky apricot-colored poodle.

Although favoring her cat, Ziva watched in amusement as the dogs greeted each other, often winding their leashes around their owners while doing so. Tim's dog, Jethro, was well-behaved, she noticed. Not as rambunctious as many of the others. She would have liked to have caught Tim's eye to give him encouragement, but he didn't look her way once.

Specialists in animal behavior went down the row of animals, took them for walks, talked and played with them. They gently but firmly nudged the owners aside when the owners tried to get involved. Then they presented the animals, one at a time, to a couple recovering, wounded seamen and Marines who sat in an enclosed, air-conditioned corner of the tent.

A woman in a lab coat, one of the specialists, came to meet Ziva and Dead Man eventually. She had a sharp look, no-nonsense, about her. "Well, a cat," she sniffed. "Cats aren't really all that empathic, you know. But we'll see if he can do anything."

Ziva held her temper. "My cat is very sociable," she said. "You will see."

And indeed, Dead Man seemed to know that he was allowed to strut his stuff, and he did. When she brought him out from the air-conditioned area, the woman was smiling. "He _is_ a friendly one. Surprising, that much affection toward strangers, in a cat." She handed him back to Ziva.

Tim's dog was one of the last dogs to go in. Jethro walked with the almost-military bearing that German shepherds seemed to have. When they brought him out again, his handlers were beaming. Ziva strained to hear what they had to say to Tim, but he was too far away. All that she could see was that he at first appeared very happy, but then his expression turned to shock and then sadness. _What in the world…?_

Tim knelt down beside his dog, and hugged him, tightly, burying his face in the dog's fur. Ziva wished she knew what was going on, what was happening…but she and Tim had grown too distant over the last few months. It wouldn't seem right for her to invade his space now. _He would probably resent it,_ she rationalized.

Other NCISers, though, weren't as hesitant. Some crouched beside him, looking concerned, and obviously asking what had happened. One then bolted and ran for Vance, looking angry.

Vance came to Tim, listened, and then, handing his poodle's leash to one person, stormed off and collared the specialists.

It only took about two minutes before Vance, with a look that could kill, started making the rounds of the NCISers, stopping at each person or group and speaking briefly to them. When he came to Ziva, who was about to clip Dead Man's leash back on, he said, "I honestly knew nothing about this aspect. I apologize. You are under _no_ obligation here. If you're uncomfortable, feel free to leave." He moved on before Ziva could ask any questions.

"May I have your attention, please?" said the head researcher, a mike in hand. He looked quite pleased. "Thank you all for coming out today. You have a lovely group of pets, all outstanding in their own, unique ways. Give yourselves a hand." He led off the cautious applause.

"As you know," the man continued, "we're researching how soothing the effects of a gentle animal can be on our wounded warriors. We've seen some really great responses today. Our runner-up champion is Dead Man, owned by Officer David. And the grand champion, the one that certainly outperformed all the others, is that handsome German shepherd, Jethro. Please bring him up here, Agent McGee."

Tim, however, was frozen beside his dog. He looked stricken.

The researcher continued smiling. "We'll be delighted to welcome Jethro into our ranks of testing dogs. He'll travel far and wide, bringing comfort to—"

"I don't think so, Dr. Warren," Vance said coldly. "Agent McGee is not interested in parting with his dog. Nor Officer David with her cat. You misrepresented this arrangement. This show is over."

"But…but…but…"

Ziva ran to Tim. "Let us go, McGee. I am taking you away from here."

Tim still clung to his dog, who had cocked his head to try to determine what had upset his master so. Tears fell as Tim said, "No…if Jethro is that good, the military should have him. I have no right to keep him when he could be doing so much good."

"McGee! He is _your_ pet. Not the _military's_! Jethro loves you and doesn't want to be anywhere but with you."

"But…"

"If they want animals that badly, let them spend the money to buy them from breeders, as puppies and kittens, and not break up happy homes. You know that I am right."

Tim wiped his eyes. "I know that you are stubborn."

"If you give up your dog, McGee, I will never forgive you. I…I might steal him first and bring him to live with my cat and I."

He smiled faintly, tears nearly gone now. "That's quite a nice thing to say, considering you've hardly talked to me for months."

"I know. I am sorry. It was wrong of me to not be sympathetic toward your allergies."

"I'm probably as much as fault. I should talk to my doctor; see if there's some medication I could take…"

She took his hand. "I want to host another dinner party. Perhaps Ducky, or Gibbs, will let me do it at their house. And you must come."

"I'd…I'd like that. Yes."

Suddenly, Dead Man sprang from Ziva's arms, and bounded away. Ziva and Tim cried out and gave chase, but the cat quickly disappeared.

- - - - -

Ziva, Tim and Vance searched for a long time; long after the researchers and the other NCISers had gone. Dead Man didn't turn up. At last darkness came, and they gave up the search.

- - - - -

Tim and Ziva returned the next day, Sunday, and searched some more. They covered the entire Yard…again. They made up "missing cat" posters and posted them around the Yard and on M Street. Ziva offered a small reward.

No phone calls ever came.

- - - - -

Tony, on Monday, was kind and comforting. "I know you may not want to hear this yet," he said at one point, "but you should get another cat. I know some people; you could get one that looked like yours, or something different."

"Thank you, Tony," she said, fighting her sorrow. "But I am not ready for another pet. Not yet. There will never be another cat like that one."

"Well…if I can be of any help, just let me know," he said.

"That goes for me, too," said Tim.

She hugged both of them.

- - - - -

Ziva never did find Dead Man. He may have met a tragic end, or been adopted by another loving household. She had no sixth sense about these things, and didn't believe in it, anyway.

But late at night, as she sat up in bed with no cat to play with, she sometimes saw on TV a public service announcement for a group that used pets as therapy for wounded vets. And there, for a brief second or two, was a silver tabby cat, contentedly sitting in the lap of a double amputee, who was petting it gently.

Was that Dead Man? It seemed so unlikely.

But he had come into her life in a time of great stress for her. And then she had resolved it.

Maybe he had, after all, sensed that his work was done here, and it was time to move on.

She sighed, finding a toy mouse under her pillow. Tomorrow she would talk to Tony about getting another cat.

-END-

A/N: Part of the idea for this story came from the US Army's "Dogs for Defense" program that started in WWII, under the auspices of the Quartermaster Corps and the American Kennel Club. This program encouraged the public to donate their pets (certain dog breeds) to help in the war effort, such as acting as sentries or messengers. I personally find this donation of a living being who had been enjoying a happy home life to be put in harm's way distasteful, but YMMV.


End file.
